


Go Reckless, Unharmed

by sugarboat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Jon bites off more than he can chew and Peter makes an offer.





	Go Reckless, Unharmed

So there are, after all, some perks that come with being the Head of the Magnus Institute, London Branch. Or Acting Head, Interim Head – Peter’s sure there’s some fussy, particular title he’s meant to assume. One of those fine details Elias is so very keen on when Peter doesn’t see much of the point. He can call it what he likes – the end result is the same: he’s left his Institute in Peter’s care, for a duration of _indeterminable_, but oh, is the future bright. 

Elias’ Archivist. Peter hasn’t decided how he feels about it, quite yet. It’s utterly incapable one moment, then incapacitating the Stranger’s puppets (though already weakened and half-dead), drowning itself in the Buried, and gobbling up Dark Suns the next. Elias has high hopes, higher expectations. Peter’s simply enjoying the show. Watching all the anguished little ripples produced as these interpersonal dramas play out. There’s something cute about blissful ignorance. Standing in the blind spot of the Eye. 

Aside from the front row seats to the soap opera, his work thus far has been a thankless task. Unappreciative, is the word he would use for Elias’ staff. Even Martin, who would rather lie to himself than cop to how lucky he is that Peter’s been there to so carefully extricate him from the disaster brewing in the Archives. So many little monsters thrashing around in their growing pains, carping endlessly about human life and suffering and on and on and on-

Actually, Peter thinks as he shifts himself, that’s probably what the Archivist was planning on doing when he marched himself up here in the first place. It’d taken Peter almost by surprise, when Jon came through the door to Elias’ office. Calmly, quietly, locking the door behind himself before he’d turned and all but made eye-contact with Peter, impossible as that would have been. 

And then, staticy and sharp like the ends of arthropod legs skittering in dirt, the Archivist said, 

“_Show yourself_.” 

And Peter had learned, in very intimate detail, the pain of being wrenched out of somewhere against your own will. Leaving Forsaken has never felt like that before. As if he was scoured on the way out, his skin stripped clean and left new, raw and weeping, the weight of the air against it a coarse, shocking brush. The weight of the Eye heavier than Peter had felt it in years, a pinning gaze that was suddenly tumbling through his depths, finding bits of stray thread here and there to pluck and pull and unravel to his core. An overwhelming urge to spill his guts – literal, figurative, the distinction hardly mattered, both bubbling forth hot and bitter to coat his tongue. 

Peter felt a flash of fear, disgustingly genuine, tinged with a sharp, visceral jeer as he watched the Archivist _smile_ at him, and for a moment the thing before him was nothing but its gaze, endless and ravenous and fixated. 

For a moment. Then, it faltered. Swayed on its feet before backing towards the door, reaching out blindly to slump its weight against the wall. Clutched a hand at its temples, groaning.

Peter could have left, then. Arguably, that would have been the better decision. Instead, Peter approached the poor thing, looking so miserable as it floundered between the vestiges of its humanity and the burden of its inevitable becoming. Biting off more than it could chew, but he did suppose that was so very Beholding of it. Eyes bigger than its stomach and all that.

Jon flinched away from Peter’s touch so reflexively. It was obvious he wasn’t parsing things correctly. Or, maybe, he was that clueless. That desperate, that starved of any kind of interaction involving soft words and steering hands. Jon let himself be led without a fight – didn’t really start fighting until long after Peter had gotten him on his knees. 

Usually he’d feel a bit bad about all this. Not the kind of first impression he liked to make. But, well, if the Archivist was going to make a habit of overriding other people’s wills, Peter didn’t see how giving him a bit of the same wasn’t just fair play. 

And he looked so pretty with Peter’s cock stuffed down his throat, choking on it. Dripping with tears and splotchily flushed. Keeping that nasty mouth of his occupied. And it’s always rewarding to break in something new. 

At this point, Peter has already come down the Archivist’s throat. Pulled out and smeared his length across Jon’s cheek; tightened his fingers into a fist in Jon’s hair and dragged him into motion of it, made him turn his face into it like a right and proper little slut. The Archivist is tucked below his desk now, blessedly silent with his mouth full. 

“See, Jon?” Peter says. He’s pushed his chair back slightly, had noted with amusement the small grunt of displeasure Jon had made when he’d had to follow after him with his mouth. Peter waits until Jon gazes up at him around his mouthful of cock to continue. “I knew we would get along just splendidly, under the proper circumstances.” 

Jon glares at him, all acid and spite, and Peter feels his cock twitch with interest again. It’s helped along by the sudden suction of Jon swallowing around him. Jon’s been doing things like that – Peter honestly can’t tell if he’s doing it purposefully or not, but he’s almost being a proper tease. A curious tongue tracing along his cock, or Jon drawing back as he adjusts himself until the thick head of it is just threatening to pop out from between his lips. Before the slow, lingering slide of Jon taking him back into his mouth, struggling with whatever amount of interest his supposedly innocent actions have provoked. 

Peter reaches down to pet through his hair. Jon looks good down there, too, between the spread of Peter’s thighs. Peter can think of only a few areas of improvement. Jon’s clothes, for one – it was nice to ruck up the dour and severe librarian look, but Peter would rather see him in nothing. Bound up in something, for his own good, obviously, because it’s been made abundantly clear that this Archivist simply can’t control himself. Jon has the kind of coloring that would only be improved by a bit of bruising, too – by rings of puffy red bitemarks. 

Peter tilts Jon’s head to one side, and then the other, considering. The expression could stay, he thinks. Angry and defiant suits the Archivist. Especially when he’s behaving himself so sweetly otherwise. 

“They’re finding you so difficult to manage down there in your Archives, aren’t they?” Peter murmurs. He draws one hand through Jon’s hair until he’s cupping the back of his skull, thumb pressed into the fragile hinge of his jaw. He wonders if Jon isn’t getting sore yet. “But, I suppose that’s why they’re not in leadership positions to begin with, huh? Not like you or myself.” 

That, hilariously, gets him a very pointed eyeroll as a response. A little puff of air stirring over his skin. Peter chuckles, digging in with his thumb and feeling Jon flex, pushing harder against the line of his bone until Jon makes a quiet, muffled complaint. 

“I’m not seeing any problem with your… ability to take direction, let’s call it. Maybe they just don’t know what to do with you.” Jon is still watching him, keeps watching him as he slides his hand down to cup against his throat. Shoves the heel of his palm into its cartilage until he feels Jon swallow, tongue against his cock, throat working beneath his hand. “I think I know exactly what you need, Archivist.” 

It looks like Jon is just dying to say something now, and what a fortuitous arrangement, then, that he can’t. Peter truly has no interest in a two-sided conversation here. 

“You’ve been struggling a bit, right?” Peter says, hand back in Jon’s hair to guide him slowly off his hardening cock. Not off far enough to free his mouth, of course – just using the Archivist to stroke himself off, enjoying the flush blossoming across Jon’s cheeks when he starts pulling him back down. “It’s just as Elias said – you’re at a very delicate turning point here.” 

Jon breathes in sharply at the mention of Elias. Peter is almost curious about what’s rattling around in his little head at that. He suspects that empty hollow, that endless chasm in Jon’s chest that still wants for human connection, has some little cavity set aside for his Watcher, in some way or another. It’s cute. 

“Now, he’s convinced himself that you’re going to figure this out on your own, and who am I say whether he’s right or wrong?” 

It’s easy to set up a rhythm, up and down, leading Jon perfunctorily. Less easy to get him to take the whole length of his cock, but Peter has a touch of sympathy for that. Obviously no one’s been getting this Archivist onto his knees nearly as often as he deserves. And Peter’s cock is beginning to nudge its way into the back of the Archivist’s throat and there’s still plenty left to go. 

“That being said-” Peter stops on a sigh, finally able to pop the head of his prick into Jon’s throat. Tight and slick and hot, and the panicked constriction of Jon’s throat around the intrusion is like it’s trying to milk him of his come already. “Oh, very nicely done, Archivist.” 

He means it, but it’s said mostly for the effect his praise has on the pitiable thing swallowing down his cock, the little shudder that runs through the Archivist’s form at it. Peter is able to work a bit more of his cock into its throat, getting Jon’s lips closer to the base but not quite wrapped around it. He retches a bit around Peter’s dick, one of those nasty ones that come with a full body heave that Peter can’t help but buck himself upwards into.

Tears slip out of Jon’s eyes from where they’ve been welling. Saliva is already drooling out of his mouth, down the rest of Peter’s cock and threatening to ruin his slacks for the rest of the day. He wrenches his cock back out of Jon’s throat, resistance that feels like reluctance, almost, like Jon’s body doesn’t want to let his dick slip free, and then Jon’s swallowing greedily around him, trying to keep himself from vomiting no doubt but the sensation is warmth and wet and velvety, fluttering suction all the same. 

“That being said,” Peter continues after he’s caught his breath again. He waits until Jon looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and tear-soaked lashes clumped appealingly together before he continues, “I’m inclined to disagree. That isn’t to say I think you’re _helpless_ – far from it. I mean, you can hardly even talk to another person without harming them, isn’t that right?” 

This is absolutely his favorite part about this Archivist. Fresh and young in its growing pains, not yet tested enough to have put away its emotions to a place where people like Peter can’t reach them. Misery squirms like a living thing through Jon, self-recrimination and guilt hollowing out his insides. And best of all, a sudden hunger like the reminder of what he’s been made to do is all he needs to have his appetite whetted. 

“Not that I’m criticizing. We really aren’t so different as you might like to imagine.” 

Oh, that earns him quite a scowl. It makes it even more rewarding to stuff his cock back down the Archivist’s throat. Jon’s eyes widen as he struggles with it, gags noisily while his tongue squirms and presses up against the underside of Peter’s cock, massaging against all those nicely sensitive areas. Jon’s mouth is plush and wet around his prick, the constriction of his throat heavenly, practically begging Peter to bury himself hilt deep. Which he does, pulling Jon until he’s got his nose to his pelvis, balls deep in the only useful part of the Archivist. 

Peter fucks his throat shallowly, loathe to leave the soft heat of his mouth. But it’s worth it to watch Jon’s lips slide up and down his shaft. To rub himself off along the slick insides of the Archivist’s throat. Feel the clench and pull of him around the head of his cock, the fit so tight he must be scraping the delicate tissue raw. He’d love to hear the Archivist read a statement with his voice ruined from taking a prick down his throat. Maybe one about himself – there must be more than a few of them around in these Archives. 

“I know what it’s like to have something to feed,” Peter tells him, though it’s hard to say how much he’s getting with Peter rocking his hips up against his face, pulling him and urging him to bob himself on his cock. “Not easy to get used to, is it? Not easy to ignore, either.” 

Jon’s eyes are open again, gazing up at him with an avidity that really puts the _ceaseless_ in Ceaseless Watcher. Well, it’s nice to know he has the Archivist’s undivided attention. 

“Now, I don’t necessarily recommend trying to ignore these kinds of things, but if you were inclined to, well, I’d imagine some kind of distraction would be quite welcome to get through the worst of it.” 

The Archivist makes an adorably muffled noise that vibrates in his throat, hums pleasantly around the length of cock Peter has buried down it. Peter groans, tugging on the Archivist’s hair, canting his hips upwards with a little buck. Another wordless complaint shivering around his dick. 

This time around Jon has kept his eyes open, watching Peter even as he swallows and gags on his cock, blinking once and letting a tear slip from his eye. Peter has to pull out with how suddenly taut everything pulls, tension low in his abdomen and balls, yanking Jon off his cock to keep from spilling early.

“I think I’ve proven myself to be a welcoming distraction for you,” Peter says, smearing the wet and dribbling head of his cock across Jon’s cheek. This time he barely has to encourage him for Jon to stay put, to let him paint a thin coat of spit and precome over his face. “Maybe you’ve been hungry for something else all this time, huh?” 

Jon rolls his eyes, much to Peter’s enjoyment. He considers holding Jon still and coming across them, stringing his pretty dark eyelashes with white. Making Jon keep them open and watch him blink away thick streaks of his come. The Eye would appreciate something like that, Peter thinks. 

“Perhaps if you show a bit of enthusiasm, I’ll let you come up here and occupy yourself whenever you’re feeling particularly restless.” He goes from cheek to cheek, smiling at the string of precome he leaves across the bridge of Jon’s nose. “What do you say? Awfully hard to go ripping secrets out of poor, innocent people with your mouth stuffed full.” 

Jon’s mouth pouts downward with displeasure, lips tightly closed as Peter lightly taps the head of his dick against his mouth. 

“Come on, Archivist – you have to admit, I’m being terribly gracious after that little stunt you pulled. Maybe you think I have something else to give you?” Jon’s gaze sharpens, a tick of that delightful hunger opening wide and voracious. “I’d say something more substantial but, well, I think you can attest to how difficult this would be to top.” 

Jon sneers at him but then, gift of all gifts, he licks his lips, tongue teasing at the slit of Peter’s cock for a brief instant that makes Peter’s hips twitch forward.

“Think about it,” Peter says, stroking through Jon’s hair, “Agree, and you’ll have plenty more opportunities to catch me wrong-footed. Opportunities that might not otherwise exist, because now that I know a few of your tricks I won’t be falling for them again.” 

It’s always the same with these Beholding types. Just have to dangle the right bait, the right kind of _Knowing_ that they want and there it is – Jon opens his mouth and sets himself to working his way onto Peter’s cock, not much more finessed than when Peter was doing all the work but there’s something to be said for having a willing partner. 

“There we are.” Peter thrusts up into Jon’s mouth, enjoying how Jon struggles to take him, how he chokes and balks and then shoves himself forward again. “I knew you could be a good little cockslut for me.” 

Jon flushes, a shiver radiant all down his spine through to his limbs. He’s not looking at Peter now, focused on his task, cheeks burning hot. Peter knows he’s not going to last long, that tension ratcheted all tight with Jon’s mouth soft and suckling around the head of his prick. 

“Just aiming to drain my balls empty, aren’t you? Voracious little thing.” It’s like Jon’s never heard dirty talk in his life, the way it kicks the air out of him. How he can’t meet Peter’s gaze, how he squirms between Peter’s legs and flushes so violently. “How many of your interview subjects do you think have dreamed of getting you in this position? Fucking that pretty mouth of yours into submission.” 

Peter would continue, but Jon takes the initiative to shove himself all the way down on his cock, not stopping until he’s flush to Peter’s pelvis and then jerkily bobbing himself in short, sharp movements that have Peter groaning. He grips Jon’s hair and encourages him down, harder, snapping his hips up to meet his movements. 

“Yes, fuck-” Peter gasps, close enough that his thoughts narrow to the chase of his orgasm. He twists his fist until he’s sure it hurts and fucks down Jon’s throat with abandon, holds the Archivist close and tight to his balls as he comes down his throat, so deep he probably can’t even taste it, doesn’t even have to swallow. 

He works himself through the aftershocks with Jon’s mouth. Pulls back just enough to let his cock slowly soften on Jon’s tongue, twitching as it does with overstimulation. Peter pets through Jon’s hair as he catches his breath. Looking down finally to see Jon watching him expectantly, and quirking an eyebrow at him when Peter meets his gaze. 

Peter chuckles, and rubs his fingers at the hinge of Jon’s jaw. “Eager to get going already? Not just yet, I think.” 

Jon sighs, and shifts on his knees. Swallowing around Peter’s cock is almost mean at this point and Peter hisses at the pleasure-pain static rippling through his nerve endings. 

“Behave yourself, and I’ll let you get back to work soon enough,” Peter tells him. He adjusts them so his chair is pushed back in, ignoring the complaint Jon gives as he’s tucked neatly beneath the desk again. 

For all the quiet sass Jon’s giving him now, he’s willing enough to let himself be guided to rest against the inside of Peter’s thigh. Stays put when Peter’s hand leaves him with a last reassuring little pat. 

Yeah. It’s about time Peter started enjoying the perks of his position.


End file.
